The Last Few Minutes
by PandaFire McMango
Summary: This is a Collins suicide fic. Don't ask why i am writing this. I myself have abosuletly no logical answer. Collins just lies on his bed and thinks as he prepares to join his Angel. I love them both forever.


**this is a very short Collins fic. I am feeling rather sad and angsty...however, weird though it is, I expect to post some fluff tonight. If at all possible, listen to either "Reach" by Idina Menzel (Still I Can't Be Still) or "I'm With You" by Adam Pascal (Civilian) while you read this. I did while i wrote it...it helps.**

The bedroom ceiling had cracks in it.

Collins wasn't quite sure why he even knew this; he had never thought about the ceiling and its particular details until this very moment. In fact, it might be fair to say that he had hardly noticed the ceiling until then; after all, being near it meant that he was in a building, and in most buildings you took a ceiling for granted.

Still, that ceiling had seen a lot of Collins in the last year. It had seen him on that first Christmas Eve, tentative and inwardly both thrilled and intimidated by Angel's beauty and soul when she called him into the bedroom to show him her Christmas outfit. It had seen him on the first night that he and Angel made love, and on the many nights like it afterwards. It had seen him lie in bed with her and laugh as they talked about their friends and each other and life in general. It had seen him lean against the wall wearily during those rare times that they fought, and it had seen each and every apology for such disagreements. It had seen his happiness, his sadness, his love, and his laughter.

And then it had seen other things. It had seen him gently tend to Angel as she became weaker and her coughs shook her body worse every time they came. It had seen that horrible night when Angel's fever grew and grew until finally Collins picked her up in his arms and moved out of the room to bring her to the hospital. It had seen him come back frantically for the things she missed, the things she wanted to have in her hospital room to remind her of her own little apartment. It had seen him trudge into the room and collapse on the bed, sobbing until he had no tears left to cry and still they came. It had seen him grow greyer and wearier, worn and stretched thin by grief. And finally it looked down on him now, lying there on the bed with no caring left in him, no will, no nothing but pain.

And now, after all of that, Collins only now took the time to see it for the first time.

His eyes followed the snaking lines of the cracks as they criss-crossed the dull white plaster, breaking apart the smoothness and the sameness. One wide chasm of a crack bloomed from the bottom left-hand corner of the ceiling; a thick line that broke apart and became three, which broke apart and became eleven, which broke apart again and again until a tangle of branches spread, thin as a spider's web, across four square feet. It was like a tree, each branch giving birth to so many more.

Collins dully stared at this little tree, tracking one particular crack as it grew smaller and smaller and split again and again. Somehow it made him sad; the branches were forced to divide, whether they wished to or not. They had no choice in the matter. Such things couldn't be fair…everyone should be able to decide if they stayed together or split apart.

Such things couldn't be fair.

Collins tore his eyes away from the ceiling and turned onto his side, fingers snaking underneath the pillow beside his head and locating what he knew was there, what was always there. He drew it out and gazed at it. Cliché…he could imagine a camera, Mark's maybe, capturing every movement, every sigh, every flicker of pain in his eyes.

Movies didn't always lie.

It was a picture. Just a picture, not a magic amulet or a holy relic. It was a photograph of his girl, grinning with everything she had at the camera, perched on the edge of a table and cocking her head to the side in that wonderful, adorable way…

Collins let his hand slowly fold into a fist, crumpling the photo until it was a tiny ball of film on paper, nestled safely in the womb of his fist. She was there too, beside him as she had been, as it seemed she always had been. He needed her now more than ever. Needed her to remind him why he was doing this. Why he had nothing left here.

In his other hand was something small and hard. Slowly, quietly, he lifted it and popped the top off with his thumb, tipping it over so that the contents tumbled onto his chest. He didn't need to sit up or look down his nose to know that they were there; a pile of pills, small and innocent and his path to Angel.

There was no hesitance in his movements as Collins dropped the bottle and began to dry-swallow the pills, calmly slipping them one by one into his mouth. There was no doubt in his smile as the last one disappeared down his throat. There was only peace…As his head began to buzz softly, Collins let his eyes drift upwards towards the sky; let them take in this world one more time before he left to meet his girl.

The bedroom ceiling had cracks in it.

**why. the. hell. does. Angel. have. to. die.**


End file.
